“Can’t tonight,” I say, and watch her face fall. “But maybe next week? If I can find a sitter?”
The offer surprises us both. Jenna recovers first, her smile genuine. “Thursday works. I’ll text you. We can commiserate over nightmare clients and picky directors.”
“And acai pronunciation.”
“God, is that still happening? Just tell them it’s ah-sah-ee and move on with your life.”
Something close to friendship flickers between us.
Outside,the city is alive with mid-morning energy. I check my GPS, calculating drive times to Tyson’s school. Planning what I’ll say to him, how I’ll handle this latest crack in our carefully constructed normal.
The elementary school parking lot is its usual chaos of minivans and SUVs. I spot Blythe first, pigtails bouncing as she weaves through the crowd. Tyson trails behind, shoulders hunched under his backpack, eyes fixed on the ground.
“Mom!” Blythe crashes into me with the force of a small meteorite. “Kara’s mom said I can sleep over Friday and we’re going to make slime and watch?—”
“We can’t do sleepovers this weekend,” I say, catching Tyson’s eye as he slides into the backseat. He looks away quickly. “Dad has to work.”
Her face falls. “But you said?—”
“I know, baby. Plans change sometimes.” I swallow the sigh that wants to follow. “We’ll plan something for next weekend, okay?”
Tyson slams his door harder than necessary. In the rearview mirror, I can see him picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, jaw set.
“Want to tell me what happened in gym?” I ask, navigating through the pickup line.
“No.”
“Mrs. Gannett said?—”
“She doesn’t know anything.” His voice cracks slightly. “Neither does Kyle Stevens.”
“Whatever he said?—”
“He said Dad left because of me.” The words explode out of him. “Because I’m weird and quiet and don’t play any sports.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. In the passenger seat, Blythe has gone very still, the way she always does when we talk about Before.
“That’s not true,” I say carefully. “Your dad loves you. He just?—”
“Has important work,” Tyson finishes. “I know.”
The rest of the drive home is quiet except for Blythe’s occasional humming. She’s working on “Let It Go” again, which feels appropriate.
In the kitchen, I start pulling out dinner ingredients while they settle into their homework routines. Tyson at the counter, math worksheets spread around him. Blythe at the table, tongue caught between her teeth as she practices spelling words.
“Mom,” she says suddenly. “How do you spell ‘necessary’?”
“Sound it out,” I tell her, chopping carrots for the stir-fry.
My phone buzzes. Evan again.
Can’t do next weekend either. Department needs all hands for surveillance operation.
The knife slips, nearly catching my finger. Two weekends in a row. He’s never done that before.
That’s not enough notice. I have commitments.
Then uncommit. This is important.
